Twelfth Night
by Mishka67
Summary: What does everyone else see that John Bates can't?


**A/N: Well, well. Sometimes a story idea invades your brain and practically writes itself before you ever sit down to actually commit the words to paper (or electrons, whatever). And then when you do sit down to actually write it out, the characters start bouncing around like those electrons and lead you down all sorts of interesting paths that hadn't entered your brain before. This story began with a prompt on the Anna and Mr. Bates Reading Room on Tumblr. (The nature of the prompt will become apparent as you read.) I had several scenes all worked out in my mind. As the characters meandered through the story and it easily doubled or tripled in length, I considered editing it down and tightening it back up. But the little paths were such fun, I decided to leave them in.**

**So what we end up with here is part 'day in the life,' part actual progression toward a point (of sorts), but really ends up being mostly flirty fluff with a healthy dose of bromance. I can't imagine anyone will complain about either fluff or bromance, eh?**

**I do have to give a shout out to my research department, terriejane, who ensured me that she could find no mention of Twelfth Night celebrations in Jessica Fellowes' **_**A Year in the Life of Downton Abbey**_**, which gave me the go ahead to set the story when I did. I don't how many Twelfth Night traditions were still in place in Yorkshire in 1925. Even today, celebrations vary widely by region and by faith tradition. But Downton's annual Servants' Ball has always seemed to me as a Twelfth Night sort of thing, and so that is when this story is set . . . sort of. It has absolutely nothing to do with Shakespeare's play of the same name, but a story by any other name would still feel as fluffy, right? Or something like that.**

**Disclaimer: I own all the Downton DVDs, but that's it, more's the pity . . .**

* * *

><p><strong>Twelfth Night<strong>

John Bates glanced in the wash room mirror as he drew the razor across his cheek with sure, practiced strokes. The blade was sharp and it felt glorious as it scraped away the dross of overnight growth. As his hands continued the morning ablution without conscious direction from him, he found himself pondering Anna's comment, surely in jest, from earlier in the morning.

"_No, I like it, truly," _her tone every bit as insistentin his memory. _"The tickle . . . the rasp against my skin is very . . . stimulating." _She had then pulled his head to her bare breast and rubbed his stubble-covered cheek back and forth across one nipple and then the other. Not inclined to argue with his wife even in the worst of times, Bates was utterly powerless to deny her when she was awake and amorous before dawn.

For well over a decade, his habit had been to bathe and shave before any of the other servants had awakened, and then, whenever possible, to shave again before the gong. Many nights he would shave yet again before bed. Bates kept his person and his space scrupulously clean. It went far beyond Mr. Carson's demand that every servant be a positive reflection upon the house they served. An even slightly unkempt presentation, and the stubble of his beard in particular, reminded Bates too much of the times in his life when he would not or could not maintain such a standard. His days as a querulous, stumbling drunk were long behind him, but the memory of those times haunted him. As did his memories of his prison sentences – both of them.

The months when he was unjustly incarcerated for Vera's murder were the worst. To have Anna, and on occasion Lord Grantham, see him in such a state was not just embarrassing, it was humiliating. Only granted the opportunity to bathe and shave once a week, and even then with a razor so dull it likely couldn't slice through a pat of butter, Bates continually bemoaned the fact that the prison's schedule never seemed to afford him the chance to present himself well at a visit with either of the two people he most esteemed. Although neither ever commented on it, Bates felt the failing keenly. Now, several years later, he knew he would shave hourly if there were but enough time in the day.

Still, he mused, if Anna truly was aroused by a bit of stubble, perhaps he could forgo shaving before bed. It did happen from time to time, after all. Those nights when the walk home was more foreplay than stroll, when the cottage was warmed by passion, not coal, Bates could hardly leave a warm and very willing wife to wait while he wiped away his whiskers. Last night had certainly been such a night. A night that began before they left the abbey and ended well into the early morning hours. Indeed, they'd had nearly two weeks of such nights, ever since he had surprised her with their happiest Christmas in years by returning home a free and proven innocent man. With Anna's own continued freedom more certain by the day as Mr. Murray updated them on the crumbling case against her, the Bates cottage, and the Bateses themselves, were filled with ever more joy as each day of Christmastide passed. Last night, Twelfth Night, and so the night of the annual Servants' Ball, was the culmination of the Christmas season for the house and the village. Following a late afternoon phone call from Mr. Murray stating that the charges against Anna had been officially dropped, the night became the consummation of joy for the already happy couple.

Which was why Bates was now quickly wiping away the last bits of shaving soap and tipping his chin up to judge the results of his near mindless morning routine. They had spent a bit too much time experimenting with just how stimulating stubble might be, and where it might be the most effective.

"Mr. Bates?" Anna called saucily from downstairs. "We're going to be late!"

"And whose fault might that be?" he teased as he dashed into the bedroom to finish dressing.

"And yet," she replied, "who is ready to go and who is not?"

Bates all but trotted down the stairs, wincing slightly as his bad knee failed to absorb the shock of each step. "You have your way with me again and again, and still you drive me," Bates said as he approached her, tucking his watch into its pocket and tugging his waistcoat fully into place. "You're a hard taskmistress, Mrs. Bates."

Anna gave him what he thought of as her 'racy look.' "Only because _**you **_are so wonderfully . . . _**hard.**_" She grasped his lapel and drew her body fully against his, capturing his lips in a brief, but God save him, _**hard**_ kiss. She spun away quickly, running her fingers down his chest as she did so. "Time to go, Mr. Bates," she added primly from her new position near the door.

"You naughty girl," he breathed, reaching to touch her one last time as he helped her shrug into her coat.

"Only for you, my darling," she said, her eyes shadowed as she affixed her hat.

Bates took a deep breath, opening the front door and relishing the blast of icy air that enveloped him. "Onward then, Mrs. Bates," he growled as he offered her his arm. "The way this morning has gone, I have a feeling today will be a very long day."

* * *

><p>"Good morning, Mr. Chirk," Anna trilled as they stepped rather more quickly than usual along the path toward the abbey. Mr. Chirk, their long-time neighbor and mostly retired stablemaster for the Earl, met them at the crossroads that led to the stables.<p>

"We don't often see you coming this way, Mr. Chirk," Bates added. "Good morning to you. I do hope nothing is amiss?" Bates tipped his hat to the gnarled groomsman.

"Ah," Chirk dismissed his concern, "One of the mares had a bit of a difficult birthing last night. And since I'm long past the age for wild parties, I sat with her. Mother and filly are in fine fettle this morning." Chirk leant his head to the side, as though trying to look around behind Bates' back. His expression became slightly quizzical, almost suspicious, then broke into a conspiratorial grin. "A wild party indeed it was last night, eh, Mr. Bates?"

"Everyone seemed to have a good time," Bates replied, uncertain as to Chirk's sudden jovial familiarity. "The Servants' Ball is usually the highlight of the Christmas season."

"Oh, yes," Chirk chuckled. "Twelfth Night and all that. Lord of Misrule. I remember what it was like to be young." He winked as he brushed past Bates. "Good day to you both."

Bates turned his head to look over his left shoulder to see Mr. Chirk still chuckling, looking over his own shoulder back at them. "Do I still have shaving soap on my face?" he asked Anna, still staring at Chirk behind them.

"Of course not," she replied, barely looking at him as she pulled him into motion on the road to the big house. "You could shave blind-folded and never miss a spot. We really will be late now."

* * *

><p>"There you are, Anna, Mr. Bates," Mrs. Hughes sounded relieved as she bustled past them removing coats and hats. "I was beginning to wonder if we'd need to send a search party."<p>

"We're very sorry, Mrs. Hughes," Anna said as she took Bates' gloves from him while he slipped out of his overcoat. "We ran into Mr. Chirk on the road."

"Poor man," the housekeeper clucked. "Is he all right? We never did see him last night at the ball. I feared he might be sick and no one would know."

"Nothing of the sort," Bates intoned. "A matter of a difficult delivery for one of the horses apparently. He said he sacrificed going to the 'wild party' so he could attend her." Bates settled his hat on its peg and shared a knowing laugh with the others over Mr. Chirk's legendary devotion to Downton's four-legged residents. He turned to more fully face Mrs. Hughes.

"We are sorry for the delay." He nodded as he spoke. "Has His Lordship rung yet?"

Mrs. Hughes looked at him intently. Bates found himself wondering once again if he had missed a spot of shaving soap or, worse yet, a patch of stubble. He resisted the urge to run his hand across his face. Mrs. Hughes' expression turned quizzical, then she shook her head as though banishing a thought.

"No, no, no one has rung yet. I dare say the 'wild party' continued on for quite some time under more than one roof in Downton last night, hmm?" She gave Bates the most calculating look he had ever seen from her, then patted Anna's arm in motherly fashion and rushed off as two young maids rounded the corner with a copy of _Movie Weekly_ held between them. "There'll be none of that now, my dears," she said, taking the magazine from them.

Bates registered the girls' quiet protests as all three walked further away, but gave it no more mind. He glanced quickly at Anna, "Did I miss a spot?" he whispered, feeling a feeling that might edge toward panic. He needed to get a look in the mirror.

"Don't be silly," she said, rubbing his arm. "But let me see." She touched his chin to turn his head to the left.

"Anna!" Madge called from the doorway to the hall. "There you are! Lady Mary's ringing."

"I'd better go," she whispered. "Another day without breakfast," she said in mock complaint, "but it was worth it, Mr. Bates." She squeezed his hand and dashed up the stairs.

"And there's His Lordship, Mr. Bates!" he heard Mrs. Hughes say from inside the hall accompanied by the ringing of several bells.

"On my way!" Bates called back as he shrugged off his concerns. Making his way up the long stairwell more slowly than his wife (Lord Grantham was rather more forgiving than Lady Mary, after all), Bates took the opportunity to run a hand across his chin and both cheeks. Blowing out a cleansing breath in pleased relief, Bates took the remaining stairs a bit more quickly.

* * *

><p>"So the whole sorry business is finally done and dusted?" Lord Grantham asked him as slipped into his waistcoat.<p>

"Mr. Murray certainly seems to think so, my lord," he replied, holding out the suit jacket patiently as the Earl buttoned up his waistcoat.

"I'm glad he was able to stay for the ball last night," Lord Grantham said. "Although whoever would have thought he would let go quite like that?" The Earl shook his head slowly and touched a hand to his temple. "I wonder if it's wise for a lawyer to drink that much. On the other hand," he continued, sitting on the edge of his bed, "I suppose it isn't wise for anyone to drink that much."

"I'm sure Your Lordship is right," Bates agreed mildly. He turned to peruse the Earl's cufflinks, pondering a selection for an upcoming week in London.

Bates saw the Earl shake his finger at him out of the corner of his right eye. "Don't you wave that teetotaling flag of yours, Bates," he admonished. "You're as bad as my wife!"

Bates bit back a smile as the Earl harrumphed on the corner of his bed like a petulant child. It did not escape Bates' notice that his employer was still holding his other hand to his temple. "Lady Grantham is a wise woman who cares for you very much," he stated quietly.

"Well, between the two of you, not to mention my daughters, I'm going to be 'cared for' right into my grave."

"Can I get you a powder for your head, my lord?" Bates asked archly.

The Earl shook his head, still gingerly. "I'll be fine with some breakfast. Do look in on Murray, will you?"

"Certainly, my lord," Bates nodded.

"I'm going to miss Mr. Branson, Bates," Lord Grantham mused. "Quite possibly even more than I shall miss my granddaughter."

"Mr. Branson is-"Bates began, not quite following the apparent non sequitur.

"Mr. Branson is the only man in this house who will drink with me on a regular basis! You want to help my headache, Bates? Find a husband for one of my daughters."

Bates looked askance at his employer.

"Well, perhaps not," he backpedaled. "Lord knows I don't need another person in this house telling me **not** to drink."

Bates turned to face the Earl fully, indicating that they both needed to move on to the next part of the day's duties. Lord Grantham stood, taking the subtle hint.

"Do please look in on Murray?" he asked again as he reached the door and turned back to Bates. The valet found himself taken aback as the Earl stared at him intently. Lord Grantham looked curious more than anything else. "Say, Bates," he asked softly, "is that . . ."

"Oh, Papa, there you are!" Lady Mary pulled open the dressing room door more fully. "There are still some things I would like to review with Tom before they leave. Do you have time?"

"Before breakfast?"

Bates waited patiently, edging slightly to his right in hopes of catching a glimpse of himself in the wardrobe mirror. The look on Lord Grantham's face was all too similar to the way Mr. Chirk and Mrs. Hughes had looked at him. There must be something on his face. If only the Crawleys would get on about their morning, he could correct whatever was wrong with his appearance.

"Blimey, Bates!" Lady Mary shot a surprised glance his way. "You certainly had quite the night, didn't you?"

"My lady?" Bates felt the panic rise again.

"Don't fret, Bates," Lord Grantham said a bit more jovially. "All is well. Do give Anna my best as well, won't you?"

Of course, my lord," Bates replied automatically. _There! _He thought to himself, glancing quickly to his right at his reflection in the mirror. There was nothing grossly amiss with his appearance, certainly no large dollop of shaving soap adorning his face. Now if only the Crawleys would move along, he could get a closer look and see why he was getting odd looks this morning.

_And done! _Bates crowed silently as they walked out the door, discussing breeds of cow, if he wasn't mistaken. Bates turned to the mirror.

"Mr. Bates!" Mr. Carson boomed from the open door. Bates restrained his startled reflex and turned to regard his superior.

"How can I help, Mr. Carson?" he asked. Bates kept himself rigidly under control. If ought was truly amiss with his appearance, Mr. Carson certainly would not fail to make mention of it. After Anna and Lord Grantham, Mr. Carson was the person he most respected in the house. Pride in personal appearance mattered as much to him as it did to himself, Bates well knew.

"There are a number of items that Mister Branson," Bates never failed to notice how Carson drew out the title when referring to the former chauffeur. He was never quite certain if it implied sarcasm or grudging respect – perhaps both- "and Miss Sybbie will not be taking with them. I wondered if you could help sort what needs to be held for their use when they visit and what should go into long-term storage."

"Of course, Mr. Carson," Bates replied, "but perhaps Nanny might be a better judge for Miss Sybbie's things?" Bates slowly breathed out the breath he had been holding. Carson had not commented on his appearance; all must truly be well.

"Yes, and she will," Carson agreed. "Only His Lordship and Mister Branson mentioned last night that there might be some items in his room that you might like. Items of Irish origin, I believe."

"That's very considerate of both of them," Bates said, still standing rigidly and breathing very shallowly.

"Are you all right, Mr. Bates?" Carson asked.

"Quite all right, Mr. Carson." Bates shifted his cane over a few inches; he felt as though he might fall over. The imagined scrutiny was becoming unbearable.

And then the scrutiny was imagined no longer. Carson looked him directly in the eye, then scanned his face thoroughly, as though quartering a field for a search. Bates endured the inspection, fighting to keep his hands at his sides. It seemed as though Mr. Carson's eyes settled on his nose briefly; Bates felt it itch. Then Carson looked him in the eye again. His eyes seemed to shift back and forth from one of Bates' ears to the other; Bates felt them ring as though Carson had boxed them.

And then the butler's face shifted into an almost affable smirk. Bates could not recall seeing a smirk from Mr. Carson before; it was more unnerving than the inspection.

"Of course you are!" Carson agreed, clapping his hands. "Shall we?" Carson waved him through the door. "Mr. Barrow has their breakfast this morning, but I still need to discuss a few matters with His Lordship."

Bates threw a last glance over his right shoulder in the direction of the mirror. Seeing nothing out of order, he preceded Mr. Carson from the dressing room.

* * *

><p>Bates knew there were over 300 mirrors in Downton Abbey. What he did not know was how fate had conspired to keep him away from every last one of them all morning. Each time he had managed to duck into a room with a mirror to confirm that his appearance truly was acceptable, someone called or rang for him. Having passed muster, as it were, by both Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson, his panic had receded to a low level of anxiety tumbling slowly in his stomach. If he could just thoroughly examine his face, he felt certain that would disappear as well.<p>

He groaned internally as he came down the stairs toward the Servants' Hall and saw Barrow holding court with himself in front of the mirror there. Bates could hardly fault the underbutler for his attention to detail in personal presentation, but his timing was far from faultless. He paused as Barrow brushed his jacket, thinking perhaps the man was almost finished, but then he proceeded to examine the hairs at his temples, seemingly one by one. Bates leaned over the banister as he reached the last few stairs, hoping to catch his own eye in the mirror. His knee protested. Bates sighed.

"Can I help, Mr. Bates?" Thomas' comment was oily and full of anything but help. He continued to scrutinize his reflection.

"Quite all right, Mr. Barrow," he replied. "Have you seen Mrs. Bates?" Denied the use of a single mirror, perhaps he could spend a moment with Anna in the courtyard. He ran a hand over his face and could feel that lock of hair that was forever falling out of place, but nothing more. And **that** he knew Anna loved as well. Guiding the strands back into place, he passed by Thomas. The underbutler sniggered as Bates rounded him.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Barrow?" Bates asked archly. Not that he thought Thomas, of all people, would be honest or helpful.

"No problem, Mr. Bates," he replied in a condescending tone. "Who would have thought you'd still have it in you?"

"Have what in me?" he asked, genuinely curious. He stood in the doorway to the hall. Not spying Anna within, only a kitchen maid laying the table for luncheon, he turned back and gave Barrow his full attention.

"I'd say it was a more exciting night for you than the rest of us," Barrow sneered.

"Relieved, I'd say, more so than 'exciting,'" Bates clarified, unsure if Thomas was imbuing any double entendre into his words. "Mr. Murray's news was very welcome."

"'Relieved,' yes, of course." Thomas sniggered again. "That's obvious," he added.

Bates stared Thomas down, refusing to give away his puzzlement over the conversation. He had begun to wonder if everyone else in the house had gone slightly mad. Maybe the Servants' Ball had been a wilder party than he had thought and they were all still feeling the effects. But that wouldn't explain Mr. Chirk. Maybe he had stepped into the faerie world overnight and no one was who they appeared to be. Maybe he was the only one going slightly mad. Maybe Barrow would stop smirking at him and he could get a good look in the damn mirror and all the madness would go away.

"Oh, well, I suppose it was Anna who was excited after all," Barrow added. "Though why is a mystery." He glanced over Bates' full length with clear derision.

Bates felt all the morning's confusion and frustration rising within him. Were he and Barrow not standing inches from the servants' hall he would grab the man and shake some sense out of him. His right hand grasped his cane more tightly while his left clenched into a fist of its own accord.

"Mr. Barrow," he said tightly, "take your shots at me, but, please, kindly refrain from casting aspersions on my wife." Bates drew himself up and in, forcing the urge to do violence upon Barrow down into his already roiling stomach.

"Oh, Mr. Bates!" Mrs. Hughes' distinctive brogue rang out. "There you are! Anna asked me tell you that she was going to York with Lady Mary for the afternoon."

Mrs. Hughes approached the two men, then stopped as something apparently caught her eye on the stairwell. "And there's Mr. Carson as well, and Mrs. Patmore has luncheon ready. Shall we, gentlemen?"

Bates shifted his gaze from Barrow to Mrs. Hughes to the doorway. He felt himself shrink a good three inches as his hope for a few minutes with Anna deflated. "Certainly, Mrs. Hughes. After you," he said, waving his cane in the direction of the doorway.

Luncheon was an odd affair. Conversation seemed to flow well enough at the bottom of the table, but was very stilted among the senior servants. Miss Baxter, who had become quite chatty since helping to secure both his and Anna's release from suspicion, would not meet his eye. She answered every question he asked with short, almost curt responses and continually averted her gaze. She seemed to spend most of the meal staring at her napkin. Barrow continued to smirk. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had several short, quiet exchanges about upcoming guests. They each glanced at him several times as though they wondered when he might explode, disappear, or suddenly sprout rabbit ears. He noticed Mrs. Hughes patting Mr. Carson's hand once, as though she was calming him.

Molesley's behavior was the most odd. He did try to catch Baxter's eye, which was completely normal. The one time he was successful, she blushed and found her fork more interesting than her napkin. In between attempts at flirtation, Molesley seemed to catch Bates' eye more times than Bates cared for. Bates chided himself for thinking ill of the man when he and Anna certainly owed Molesley and Baxter a debt. But his current actions were inexplicable. Each time the footman caught his eye, he would stretch his neck, tilting his head at odd angles. Sometimes he would splay his hand over one side of his head and neck, almost sticking a finger in his ear. Bates fought the urge to mirror the other man's actions, wondering if perhaps Mr. Molesley was trying to tell him he had something sticking out of his ear. It was always the left ear, Bates noticed. He splayed the fingers of his own right hand on the table beside his half-empty plate. His right ear itched every time the footman stretched his neck. Once, when Bates' hand rose almost of its own volition to scratch at his right ear, Molesely shook his head back and forth and tapped his own left ear.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat and stood as he finished his meal. The rest of the servants quickly rose to their feet.

"That is quite enough," he said, lowering his brows in Molesley's direction. Molesley looked down, chastened, then shot an apologetic glance toward Bates.

* * *

><p>Bates spent the better part of the afternoon in the attics, checking over Lord Grantham's spring and summer clothes stored in the cedar chests there. He had checked most of the garments before he put them away last year, but it was never too early to inventory what might need to be replaced. Fortunately, the Earl did not require a new wardrobe as frequently as Lady Mary. Bates wondered sometimes how Anna kept track of all her changes. A man's wardrobe really was much simpler. Of course, many of Lady Mary's castoffs made their way to Anna and Bates could hardly fault her for that.<p>

It was peaceful in the attic, and there was no one to give him odd looks for reasons which defied his understanding. Sorting through His Lordship's lighter weight suits, Bates came across a light grey that was probably a bit too worn for his employer next summer. A little work at the cuffs and seams, however, and it would be quite suitable for Bates himself. He decided to drop a word to Lord Grantham closer to spring. Thinking about himself in the suit, it suddenly occurred to Bates that it had completely escaped him that there were likely several mirrors stashed away in other areas of the attic. He could probably get a look at himself without anyone looking over his shoulder. Bates set off in the direction of the furniture stores, only to find those rooms bustling with hall boys and house maids carting boxes and crates about. A couple of the youngest boys were holding lanterns aloft. These rooms had yet to have electricity run to them.

"What's all this?" he asked to no one in particular.

"Oy, all right, Mr. Bates?" one of the hall boys with a lantern, Graham, Bates remembered, approached him. "We're loading up all the Christmas decorations."

"Of course," Bates replied. "Thank you, Graham. Please move your lamp back toward the others." Graham turned, though remained standing next to him, and Bates was back in shadow.

"It was a swell Christmas this year, wasn't it, Mr. Bates?" the boy asked. Bates paused, he had been ready to leave upon finding the area so occupied. The last thing he wanted was anyone else acting as though he had suddenly grown gills that were flapping on his neck. The boy was fairly new in the house, and quite young. Bates wondered why he'd been taken on when he could certainly accomplish more for himself and his family if he'd stayed in school. Holding a conversation with a twelve year-old was not his plan for the afternoon, but putting the lad off would serve no one.

"It certainly was, Graham," he agreed. "If 'swell' means what I think it means, that is. Did you get to see your mum and dad at all during Christmas?"

"I spent my last half-day with my mum and my nan," Graham's face lit up as he spoke, clearly thrilled to be speaking with such a senior servant. "My dad . . . my dad died in the war."

"My sympathies. Is that why you're in service then? To help your mum?" Bates felt drawn to the boy, growing up evidently much as he did.

"I send her my wages," Graham said proudly. "She has her widow's pension, and she and Nan take in washing. We can manage."

"Of course you can," Bates heard his own youthful voice in the lad's words. "You must miss school though?"

"A little," he admitted. "I was never very good at maths, but I do miss reading. The teachers at my school used to let me borrow books. All I can get around here is the girls' _Photoplay_ and silly movie magazines."

"Well," Bates said on a relieved sigh, "we can't have that. Come find me while the family is at dinner tonight and I'll show you the keys to the kingdom." He patted the boy on the shoulder to emphasize his point. Bates was overjoyed to be having a conversation that did not involve strange looks, conspiratorial smirks and winks, or double entendre.

"If you say so, Mr. Bates." The boy sounded skeptical.

"Just trust me, Graham. I promise you won't regret it. I'm usually in the servants' hall during the family's dinner." Bates turned to leave, and looked back at the lad over his left shoulder one last time. He wished he hadn't as Graham gave him a quizzical look, tilting his head to the side as though working out a puzzle.

* * *

><p>With the family safely at tea in the library, Bates decided to escape the house and stroll through the grounds for a few minutes. Hopefully, Anna would return before the gong and they could have a few moments alone before the hustle and bustle of their evening duties began. Even when he wasn't concerned about egg on his face, he relished those stolen moments with Anna throughout the day. Oddly, they were even more precious to him since they began living in their cottage than they were before. Days when they could not connect a few times through the day left him out of sorts and adrift. When she had been in jail, he had said once that he would have given his right arm to help secure her release. It would have been a small sacrifice since being without her felt as though his right arm had been cut off anyway. "Wobbly at both ends" Barrow had snickered at him, but he was more right than he knew. Without Anna, Bates was very wobbly indeed.<p>

"You look deep in thought, old chap," Lord Grantham's voice startled Bates from his reverie. "Happy ones, I hope?"

"Not entirely," Bates said, shaking the cobwebs from his mind, "but they have a happy ending."

"I wish mine did," the Earl mused. Bates held his head at a deferential angle, encouraging him to continue. "Still thinking about Branson and Sybbie leaving," he said. "It will be hard to actually let them go."

"You'll see them again, my lord," he replied, not quite certain if a response was wanted. "Ships are making the crossing in less time almost every day. And these new aeroplanes! Who knows how quickly we might travel in a few more years? Imagine the things Miss Sybbie might see in her life, my lord . . ." Bates trailed off, trying to gauge the look on Lord Grantham's face. He seemed almost as though he had never seen Bates before in his life and wasn't sure what to make of him.

"You always were a progressive thinker, Bates," he said, still regarding him with a pleasantly puzzled look. "But I can't think when I've heard quite so much optimism from you before. I'm glad you and Anna have both been cleared. She's a good influence on you."

"I agree, my lord." Bates cast a sidelong glance at his employer as they looked out across the fields and the folly side by side. "And speaking of being progressive, may I have your permission to show young Graham the ledger in the library? He's had to give up school early and he feels the loss."

"Yes, a sad business, that family. Let him know he can borrow anything he wants." Although Bates expected the permission to be granted, he was taken aback that the Earl was aware of Graham's family situation.

"The lad's grandmother was a maid here when I was young," he explained. "Here for years, until she married a local fellow. She brought him in and asked if we could take him on. I hadn't the heart to refuse."

Bates let the words go unremarked, knowing that his blessing was hardly needed. He stood calmly until Lord Grantham seemed to shake himself from his own deep thoughts and pulled his pocket watch out to check the time.

"They'll be bringing the children down in a few minutes," he said. "Odd, how that's become the best part of my day." He tucked his watch back and tapped his walking stick on the gravel at his feet. "And, Bates," he added, "don't worry about all this." He waved a hand in front of his face, fluttering his fingers. "It happens to us all once or twice. See you inside!"

Bates watched him go, too stunned at the sudden change of topic and too ingrained with the proprieties of their relationship to demand an explanation. As soon as Lord Grantham was out of sight, Bates turned away and flailed his own hand in front of his face. "But what is **this**?" he asked.

* * *

><p>As it happened, Lady Mary and Anna did not return before the gong, or even in time for the family's dinner. Bates tutored Graham in how to sign books in and out of the massive library, still hoping that nothing was amiss with his appearance and showing a bit less patience than was warranted as a result.<p>

"Did you and Mrs. Bates get in a fight?" the boy asked.

"No," Bates answered, pulling out a volume of poetry he had not seen before. He flipped through the pages idly, pausing at one or two selections. He decided that Anna might like it. "I'm worried because they haven't telephoned or sent a message."

"I mean did she hit you?" Graham persisted. "Usually it's the men as hits the women, but everyone says Mrs. Bates is fiery, so I reckon she could hit someone if they needed it."

"Mrs. Bates hasn't, and wouldn't hit anyone, least of all me," Bates explained, trying to hold on to his dwindling patience.

"Mr. Bates," Andy called from the library entrance. "His lordship sent me to tell you that Lady Mary and Anna have returned." Bates smiled, knowing all would soon be settled in his world once again. "Lady Mary has retired and Anna is released. His lordship says you're free to go as well."

"Thank you, Andrew," Bates said. "A very welcome message. Come along young Graham," Bates took the boy gently by the shoulder. "Let's go find my wife."

* * *

><p>Bates found Anna waiting for him at the table in the servants' hall, a basket before her. She smiled broadly at him as he approached her, but as he came closer, her eyes widened in . . . <em>not surprise,<em> he thought, _more like shock. _He fought the urge to turn around and scrutinize himself in the mirror now unoccupied in the corridor. Now that Anna was home and they were both free for the evening, he had every intention of making the most of it.

"How does dinner at home sound?" Anna asked. She seemed to swallow her shock at whatever it was about his appearance that was a problem.

"Anything . . . everything at home sounds grand," he said. "Is that dinner?" He indicated the basket.

"In part," she answered as they walked to the pegs where their coats and hats hung. "I picked up a few things in York, and Mrs. Patmore gave us a meat pie she had set by."

The walk home was uneventful. The darkening skies made a moot point of asking Anna to thoroughly examine his face once and for all. That would have to wait until they reached the cottage and could light a lamp. He did recount his adventures with Graham; Anna was always impressed when he was more social than usual.

Bates found himself wondering about his desire to have her think well of him. He had finally accepted, sometime in the months following that horrible concert, that for some unfathomable reason she thought well of him no matter what, that, as she had said long, long ago, there was nothing he could do to change her opinion of him. And yet he still felt the need to try, to do whatever possible to improve her opinion of him, even though he now believed such a thing was probably impossible. Or perhaps it was to convince himself that he truly was, in some small way, worthy of her. His love for her was so great, he mused, that it spurred him to honor her choice by being the very best man that he could be for her, despite his many failings.

"You're brooding again, Mr. Bates," Anna chided, intentionally bumping into him just outside their front door.

"Ah, but I'm brooding on you," he replied. He unlocked the door and followed her inside. "I'll get some coal," he added, rubbing his hands together briskly.

"No, I want a proper look at you first," she called from the sitting room.

The odd looks and interactions of the day came crashing back at him and he chanced a look in the mirror they had next to the pegs for their coats and hats. He craned his neck this way and that, searching his face from all angles in the darkness until Anna came behind him on his left side carrying the lamp.

"Oh, John," she all but moaned, "I am so sorry."

He looked at her, not quite certain what she meant. "What have you done?"

"I didn't notice it this morning, truly I didn't," she seemed to be almost babbling in her desire to apologize profusely.

"All day long," he told her, "everyone has been looking at me oddly and smirking. I've tried all day to get a look in a mirror and haven't managed since I shaved this morning. I decided not to shave this afternoon since you seem like it so much." He grinned at her.

"Turn your head, Mr. Bates," Anna ordered with resignation in her voice. "It's easy to see just how much I like your stubble." She ran a cool hand across his roughened jaw and turned his head away from her, back to the mirror. She prodded his chin a bit further and out of the corner of his eye he could see the dark purple and red welt just below his left ear.

A love bite. In all their years together, they had managed to never mark the other, intuitively understanding how vital a proper appearance was for them both. And yet, there it was. He imagined it was even brighter and bolder in the daylight.

"I am sorry," Anna said again. She seemed hesitant, as though uncertain of his reaction.

Every odd interaction of his incredibly long day suddenly making sense, now seen in this new light, he was a little uncertain himself. Oh, he could never fault her, of course, Anna was faultless. He should have calmed them this morning, he should have shaved last night, he shouldn't have let either of them get quite so excited, lose quite so much control . . .

"Barrow was right," he said, shaking his head. He ran his hand over his stubbled cheeks, resting one finger near his left ear, just as Molesley had done all through luncheon. It all made so much sense now. He found himself chuckling softly. "Barrow was right," he repeated.

"Are you angry?" Anna asked. He turned to look fully at her, smiling because she had no way to understand what his day had been like. "I am sorry. It's not exactly what you'd expect out of some Twelfth Night frolicking. Or maybe it is, but I didn't mean to do it." She set the lamp on a small table in the near the sitting room door and twisted her hands together in obvious frustration. He took both of her hands in his.

"Barrow was right," he said, nodding as though it explained everything. "He implied that whatever was wrong with my appearance, which I have only now learned precisely what that was, was all because _**you**_ were . . . _excited_," he whispered the last word.

Anna became indignant, shaking their joined hands to emphasize her point. "What on earth does Thomas Barrow know about a woman's excitement? The nerve of him!"

He let one of her hands go and cradled her cheek in his palm. "Shh, shh," he soothed. "I told him to not cast any aspersions your way." He drew her in for a hug and then released her so he could look at her again.

"But he was right. I mean, obviously he was right." Bates pointed to the love bite and smirked at her. Raising his brows in silent question, he leaned in, kissed her quickly on the nose and then her forehead. Closing his eyes, he pulled her close yet again.

Anna thumped a fist against his chest and giggled slightly. Pleased that she was no longer indignant nor overly apologetic, he squeezed her tightly to him, chuckling again.

"I still don't see how Thomas can have any opinion on how a woman expresses her . . . _excitement._" She whispered the final word as well.

"Oh, I don't know," Bates loosened his hold on her so he could look in her eyes, "you get excited over a man . . . he gets excited over a man . . . Thank God not the same man." He spoke lowly, almost growling, kissing each of her temples to punctuate his words. Her hands slipped around his neck and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. Bates knew her self-confidence had returned along with her _excitement_. He felt it in her fingers tickling the back of his neck, in her breasts straining against him through all their layers of clothing, in the tilt of her hips toward him.

"So," Anna asked, a bit of doubt creeping back into her voice, "what are we going to do about this?" She ran her fingertips gently across the bruise, her cool hand glorious on his heated skin.

"What can we do?" he replied softly. "I'm afraid our secret is out. Everyone knows now. The Bateses have love . . ." he kissed her cheek just in front of her ear, "and passion . . ." he took her earlobe between his lips, "and _excitement . . ._" he whispered just before he latched on to the skin behind her ear. She moaned and arched into him and he drew her completely into his embrace. He marveled anew at how each time he enveloped her small frame, it still felt as though she surrounded him.

He ended his suckling sooner than he might have liked. A deep, primal part of him ached to mark her as his own, but he would not subject her to the humiliation he had suffered today. He reined in his mounting fervor and pulled back, only to catch a very possessive glint in Anna's eye.

"I suppose in future," she began rather saucily, tracing her thumb along his bottom lip . . . _there it is again_, he thought as he sucked her thumb into his mouth, _the 'racy' look_. She swallowed and took in a deep breath, her desire, her _excitement_ evident in her gaze locked upon his. "I suppose in future," she said again, her words pounding against the blood rushing through his body, "I'll have to mark you in places only I will ever see."

"You temptress," he rasped as he loosened his grasp around her, taking both of her hands again. "Here was me wondering if you even knew how to do that. You never have before." She stepped away slightly, drawing their linked hands between them. She smirked. And then she winked.

"What do I keep telling you, Mr. Bates?" She dropped his hands and turned toward the stairs. "Prison was an education."

Momentarily stunned at her cheek, Bates recovered and chased her up the stairs, determined to return her last gift of the Christmas season, even if no one else ever noticed.


End file.
